


so i will not ask you why you were creeping, in some sad way i already know

by Anonymous



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Dark, Dark Humor, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hiding Medical Issues, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Im sure lol, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Injury, Internalized Homophobia, Its about the /emotional experience/ see, Medical Inaccuracies, Nothing but referenced stuff; not really explicit either, One Shot, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Phase One (Gorillaz), Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slurs, Whump, for once im too lazy to research fully, gotta get it out before i change my mind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-14 17:15:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19277818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Russel knows something happened a few nights ago, but Murdoc won't talk about it.





	so i will not ask you why you were creeping, in some sad way i already know

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings in the tags! Please pay attention to them!
> 
> Thank you to gatorinahoodie for reading my fic over <3

He found him in the kitchen, leaning against a counter.

“There you are!” Russel said. “for a while there I thought you were gonna lock yourself in your room indefinitely.”

Murdoc jumped at the sound, but settled. He turned to face him. (slowly, Russel noted.) “Ah, Russ….er...just the man I wanted to see, actually…”

Russel looked him over. His eye socket was still swollen, and a plethora of colors it wasn't supposed to be, and there were more injuries on his face Russel hadn't been able to see in the club that night. Murdoc didn't look like he'd slept, and Russel would bet that he hadn't eaten either. He also noted the dirty towel wrapped around his arm and shoulder in a makeshift sling.

In short, he looked like hell. Russel wondered if it was worse under that turtleneck sweater and those black skinny jeans. 

“I'm gonna make you some eggs.” Russel said.

“No no, I don't...I'm...I ate.” Murdoc said. It was clearly a lie, judging by all that shaking his hand was doing, but Russel decided not to press it.

“Whaddya want then?”

Murdoc's gaze fixed itself on the floor. The one hand he was moving curled up close to his chest.

“Ah...I…well...you see…”

Russel raised an eyebrow.

Murdoc sighed. “I need you to do me a favor.”

“Yeah, I gathered that.”

“ah yeah uh…well….” he sighed, which turned to something of a frustrated groan, and gestured to the arm in the sling. “look, I need you to help me pop this bleedin' thing back into its socket, alright?”

Russel exhaled through his nose. It wasn't exactly disapproval so much as surprise. “Are you _kidding_ me?”

Murdoc scowled. “Look, if you won't help me you can _sod right off_ then, I'll figure it out…”

Russel approached him, and he flinched a little bit. Murdoc was always jumpy, but he seemed extra jumpy right now. Russel decided now wasn't the time to dissect all that.

“Why don't you sit down,” Russel said, trying to be gentle without sounding patronizing, “and I'll take a look at it first, alright?”

Murdoc grumbled. “We can do this standing, can't we? Besides, there's not much to look at, it's just a dislocated shoulder.”

Just a dislocated shoulder. Right.

Russel eased him over to the counter again, leaning him against it. He carefully pulled the arm from the sling, which elicited a hiss from Murdoc. Russel glanced up at him briefly, enough to notice his tooth digging into his bottom lip, clearly already anticipating more pain.

The arm dangled limply at Murdoc's side, clearly fully pulled from the joint.

“Has it been like this since the club?”

Murdoc snorted. “Well I didn't yank it out again while I was havin' a wank in between now and the _nnnngghh_ ok, ok, dont _dontdont…_ ” he gripped Russel's hand, his nails digging in a bit. “Easy there...it...it's a bit so _re_ _ah ah.._.it's a bit sore still…”

Russel scoffed. “Murdoc, your arm's not even connected to your shoulder anymore! What the fuck _happened_?”

 _Who did this to you, and why_ , Russel wanted to say, but didn't.

Murdoc winced. “It's not so bad. Really. It isn't.”

“Don't be a fucking dumbass, Muds, this _is_ really bad,” Russel glanced over the shoulder again, though he wasn't discovering anything new. It was just a lot to take in. “You should go to a hospital.”

It was Murdoc's turn to scoff. “And have some quack poke and prod me over something that needs just a little quick fix at home? Bah! Not likely.”

“A quick fi- _Murdoc_ , pull your head outta your ass!” he gestured to the arm. “This is _serious_!”

Murdoc rolled his eyes. “I've had worse. I've taken care of worse. But I just...I can't get the bloody bugger back in right now, so I thought you'd be a mate and lend me a _hand_...well...so to speak…” He pushed Russel's hand from his. “But if you're not going to help and just go on rattling off boneheaded suggestions...well then I'll do it myself!” He pushed himself from the counter, wincing again, and started limping away.

“No wait, Muds, hold on..” Russel rushed over and stood in front of him, putting his hand on Murdoc's chest. Murdoc flinched again, but recovered quickly.

“Just...I'll help you. If I can.” Russel sighed. “But its gonna hurt. Are you ready for that?”

Murdoc rolled his eyes again. “Well it already hurts, don't it?” He scoffed. “But yes, I've popped a shoulder back into a socket before, Russy. I think I’ll survive.”

Russel didn't pursue that topic, but he did file it away for later.

“You'll have to sit down.”

Murdoc grimaced. “...fine.” He muttered finally. “Just...make it quick, alright?”

Russel nodded.

Murdoc walked back to the kitchen counter and very slowly sat on the edge. He made a pained noise, his whole body stiffening, but he did it.

Russel followed him, and took the arm carefully in his hand, pulling into the right position.

Murdoc made another little whimper. He shook his head. “Now c'mon then, don't be ginger with it, it's not a fucking set of china. Besides, you'll have to be a bit rougher than that when you-”

Russel shoved the shoulder back into place. Murdoc wailed, doubling over.

“You…” he gasped. “You _bastard_ …”

“There you go, its back in.” He patted Murdoc on the opposite shoulder. “Now get some rest, let it heal. We need you to…” He trailed off, looking down at Murdoc's wrist. It was swollen and red, and on top of that a bright circle of bruises encased it, in the unmistakable pattern of a hand.

So Russel was right; someone _did_ do this to him. Some bastard grabbed him and wrenched his arm from its socket. Deliberately. It was an extremely likely explanation, and yet the confirmation made Russel a bit ill.

Murdoc yanked his wrist out of Russel's hand, causing him to grimace and pulling a little moan from him. “Oh don’t...don’t _lookit_ me like that, you big fucking idiot.” he hissed. “As if you haven't fantasized about doing the same.”

Russel started at him. “No,” he said quietly. “As a matter of fact, I haven't.”

Murdoc looked back down at the floor. “Well there's more than a few who _would_ , an one of 'em _did_. So...it is what it is now, innit?”

Russel sighed, biting his lip. “Would you mind telling me what happened?”

Murdoc snorted. “Well I just did, didn't I?” He eased the arm back into the sling, his expression turning into a glare. “Besides, it's not really anya yer _bloody business_ , now _is it_?”

Russel exhaled, finally out of patience. “I actually think it _is_ , seeing as you're our _bassist_ and you obviously won't be playing any time soon!”

Murdoc growled. “I'll heal up and then I'll play! Satan, it's not like I got it _sawn off…_ ”

“Well for all I know that _coulda_ happened! Or maybe it _will!_ Who's after you, Muds?”

“Hnn, who did I _piss off_ this time, ya mean…”

“Yeah, whatever!” Russel said, exasperated, concerned anger bleeding through. “What's going on! I have a right to know!”

Murdoc's nostrils flared, his canines peeking out beneath his lip. But then it began to tremble, and he stared back down at the floor, away from Russel.

he sighed, his whole body settling as if he had a weight on him. “Well, you don't need to worry about anya that...no one’s bloody after me, not any more I think...they got what they wanted anyway…” his voice was very soft. “I don't think they'll be coming back around for...well I don't think they'll be coming after me again. So. Don't you fret.”

Russel stared. He'd never really heard Murdoc's voice in that tone before. His own voice turned a bit soft, in spite of himself. “What's that supposed to mean, Muds?”

Murdoc scowled. “how's about you stop prying for a change, eh? Russel? How's about that, hrm?”

Russel's sympathy ebbed a bit. He crossed his arms. “Well why're you being so fucking stubborn about it?”

“I don't have to justify myself to you! Or anyone! Piss _right off_ you fucking stupid cunt!” Murdoc went to push himself off the countertop, but it clearly hurt, hurt a lot, and he hissed through his teeth and paused, his arms shaking. Russel noticed his other wrist was bruised as well, though not as swollen.

“Muds,” he said. “C'mon man.”

Murdoc snarled. “What, so you can gawk? So you can pat yourself on the back for pitying me? I'd rather lay on the floor of my Winnebago and stare at the wall until I can move my bloody soddin’ arm again! 'Fact, i'd rather _lay down in front of oncoming traffic_ !” He bared his teeth. “Maybe you'll find a new stupid fucking bugger to be your sodding bassist and ask _him_ dumbarse personal questions like the gormless gossiping old hen you are!”

He shoved himself off the counter in one quick jolt and yelped, his legs buckling beneath him.

Russel caught him in an instant, holding him upright.

Murdoc's teeth dug into his bottom lip, clearly trying to bite back any evidence of his distress. His eyes were watering.

Finally he managed to speak again. “Let me go. Fat fucking bastard. Let me alone.”

There was no bite to his words though. He laid his hand on Russel's shoulder as if to push him off, but it was clumsy and barely half-hearted. It balled into a loose, shaking fist before Murdoc let it drop back to his side. He wouldn't meet Russel's eyes.

Russel guided him back to the counter, leaning him against it. Murdoc shakily eased himself back on it, whimpering and grimacing as he did so.

“Thought you wanted to go.” Russel said.

“I'm not having a good time of standing, in case you couldn't tell.” Murdoc muttered.

“It's because you didn't fucking eat for three days,” Russel said. “I know you don't listen to me but-”

“Oh shut up,” Murdoc said. “Shut up you stupid lug. You don't know anything.”

“Well I keep asking and you keep saying jackshit to me.” Russel replied tersely.

“Well maybe I don't...I….” Murdoc stared at the floor. “Maybe I just don't want to talk about it, alright? Is that so _hard_ to _understand_?”

Russel was quiet for a minute. He nodded. “it's up to you, man.”

“...Hrm.” Murdoc didn't seem like he expected that answer.

He picked at the shirt sleeve of his bad arm. He was silent for a while.

Russel turned and headed to the cupboard.

Murdoc inhaled and stuttered out, “...I…I'm…” Russel paused.

Murdoc bunched up the fabric in his hand. “I'm...well I'm sure you've figured it all out by now anyway.”

Russel's jaw shifted. “I figured some things. Guessed at others. I dunno exactly what happened.” His tone was dry. “I wasn't exactly there, yknow.”

He felt a pang of guilt over that. Murdoc liked to wander off and get into god knows what kind of trouble...but someone had still given him a beating and he'd had no one to help him. A beating, and maybe worse. Someone had wrenched his shoulder out of its socket and bruised his wrists after all; that was pretty sadistic. Maybe he'd been held down. Some part of Russel didn't want to consider other possibilities.

Murdoc was unreasonably hostile at all times, but Russel figured he'd also feel pretty uncharitable in the same circumstances, maybe prefer to deal with things himself. Murdoc was playing it off, but Russel was also sure he was still scared over it. He certainly would be.

If only he'd stop lashing out at him, it’d make things easier.

“Look Muds.” He said. “I'm sorry I wasn't there. But i'm trying to be here for you _now_.”

“Oh fuck off.” Murdoc hissed. “You just feel _guilty_. I don't want to hear anymore of this pitying rubbish from you, or anyone else for that matter.”

“I'm not trying to _pity_ you, i'm trying to _help_.” Russel said, gesturing with his hands.

“Well you're not! Alright! Your job is _over with!_ I don't need anything else, i just need a stiff drink and some _peace and fucking quiet!”_ Murdoc snapped.

“God, you fucking _liar_ , you couldn't keep your mouth shut for 5 minutes if you tried!” Russel said, finally losing his patience. “And if you wanna fuck off back to that cesspool of bacteria and bad decisions _so_ bad, why _don't you_?”

“You _soddin' stupid fuck_! Don't you _get_ it?” he shifted, flinching briefly. “I would _love_ to, but I'm just...”

“You can barely stand.” Russel said. He scoffed. “but you don't need my help. Ok. Sure.”

“Well I got up here didn't I?”

Russel crossed his arms. “Then you can get yourself back down I guess.”

“Yeah I guess.” Murdoc said, though it was oddly softened at the end, and therefore unconvincing.

Russel sighed. “I could also help you down.”

“I…suppose.”

Russel made his way to Murdoc's side. "You can trust me y'know."

Murdoc laughed, sardonicism dripping out of every crevice of it. "Oh _can_ I? _Can_ I, Russy boy? Well thank you so _verrrry_ much for the _permission_."

"Fuck off." Russel scowled. "You know what I fucking mean."

"Oh are you trying to _assure_ me?" Murdoc gave him a look, one with hitching breath and bared teeth. Like a cornered dog that'd been kicked one too many times. "Well I hope you bloody know it means fucking _nothing_ to me. I think _I'll_ bloody decide for myself whether or not I fucking _trust_ bloody _anything_." The sarcasm returned. "But I really appreciate all these _hollow commiserations_."

Russel buried the urge to smack him. Obnoxious as he was (as he _always_ was), in this case he recognized this as Murdoc's desperate attempt to temper and obfuscate his own raw and painfully exposed emotions.

Plus it was hard to stay angry at that trembling split lip and battered squinting eye. Murdoc was shaking all over and he felt so particularly fragile and small in Russel's hands.

He seemed like he might say something else, but the second he left the countertop he wasn't much more but whimpers and furious shuddering. He clung to Russel's arm.

"Want me to walk you down the the garage?"

"What the bloody hell do _you think_?"

Russel snorted. "Do you _care_ what I think?"

Murdoc barked out a hoarse laugh. It was unpleasant, but genuine. "Not a stitch." He hissed as he took a step. "Satan, this is harder than I fucking remember…"

Russel sighed. "Man, give it a fucking rest."

"You s _hut up_ , I'll do what I _like…_ "

"Oh alright do you _like_ this then?" Russel let the sarcasm flow. "Oh well. My apologies."

" _Shut up_!" Murdoc snapped. " _Arsehole_!"

Russel stilled, making Murdoc smack him. Again, Russel resisted the urge to return the favor. "Listen man, this isn't gonna fuckin' work! If nothing else I won't survive your _bitching_ long enough to get you out of this _room_."

Murdoc groused. "Then lay the hell off! I'll do it myself I will!"

Russel scoffed. He released Murdoc and stepped aside. "Well _good_ because I have _breakfast_ to make."

Murdoc wobbled on his heels. He floundered at the lack of support.

"R...r…" He bit his lip.

"Yes?" Russel asked, still standing there.

Murdoc glared from under his bangs, but it lacked punch through all that shaking. And the way his eyes were tearing up. "Don't make me say it." He whispered. "S-soddin' bastard."

Russel grabbed him quickly. He did feel kind of like a bastard after that. Murdoc was clearly in a rougher state than he'd already figured.

He lead Murdoc back to the center of the kitchen. "I know I said I wouldn't ask."

"Hrm. And that was a _lie_?" Murdoc hissed. "Bloody _shocking_."  

"Shuddup." Russel said, settling him against the counter. "I ain't asking for my own goddamned _amusement_."

" _Sure you bloody are_!" Murdoc snapped, gripping the edge of the countertop. "Why _else_ would you be _bloody_ _asking_?"

"Because I'm _concerned_ you _stupid surly fuck_!" Russel snapped back.

"Bah! You bloody _liar!"_

"It's not my fault you're too much of a fucking _idiot_ to _get that_!"

"Shut up! Shut up! What the _fuck_ would you bloody know!" Murdoc shrilled. "Look at you making such a big fucking deal of things I'd just rather not _dwell on_! Soddin' _cunt_!"

That made Russel hesitate. "I'm….I'm _not_ …"

"You _are_! You bloody _are_! And…" His words wavered. "I just...I don't want to talk about it...bloody _think_ about it…stop bloody...it's not any of your _goddamned business_ at any rate, just leave me the fuck alone!” His voice cracked. “Just fucking let me be, you big stupid cunt, let me alone…”

He was shaking, his body curling into himself. “I ain't bloody talking about it! An...and it doesn't even _matter_! So some bastards roughed me up in a club loo, who _gives a sodding fuck_? It's what everyone expects, right? It's what I _deserve_ , right?”

Murdoc had wrapped his arm around his chest.

“S-so some...some....so maybe some rotting cunts bent me over the side of a basin. I don't _care_. It doesn't _matter_.” He whispered. “Least they didn't break my wrist. I thought they might. They said they might. Now there's something you can’t put back together.” He wiped his sleeve under his eyes, careful to avoid the bruised one. “But no, I don't care about the rest. I'll heal up and it'll be like it never happened. I'm just bloody tired of thinking about it. That's the worst part, _thinking_ about it.”

“It's...it's not fair, Russ." Murdoc's voice was so very very soft. "I just want to _move on_. But all this stupid shit that don't matter sticks with you. It shouldn't be different than anything else, should it? I hardly even care about being shagged. Do it all the bloody time.” He was shaking again. “Im..im a decent shag. They coulda just _asked_ . I'm a bit of a slag, after all, and i'm not picky. Everyone knows it.” he sniffled. “I...and it _hurt_ too...that's the thing. Hurt like bloody hell. They didn't have to...do it all like that.” Murdoc curled into himself a bit. “but I was just scared they'd break my hand...or my wrist...when I heard that pop in me arm, I thought I was gonna die right then. I could handle being fucked. Not losing...I need to be able to _play_ , Russel. Otherwise I can't handle anything at all.”

Tears were sliding down his cheeks. He tried to hide his face from Russel. “I still don’t...I don't know why they did it. just for fun I think. That's what...that's what it sounded like they were after. Had a time, ragging on me throughout the whole occasion. Thought it was real funny. I guess it was, actually.” He laughed. “Murdoc Niccals, world famous musician, world famous _slag_ , couldn't even get some ugly blokes offa ‘im in a grimy club toilet...heh…” he let out another little laugh. “Arse can take a pounding, but his heart nearly stops cold cause someone dislocates his fucking bloody shoulder.” He sniffled. “I am a bit of a pansy fucking faggot I guess…”

“Murdoc,” Russel said quietly.

“What, Russ.”

“You can stop.” He said. “ you didn't deserve that. Any of that.”

Murdoc sniffled again, rubbing his eyes on his sleeve, wincing over the bruised one. “You're...you're wrong. Probably. Certainly. But it doesn't matter. 'Cause it happened. And my arse hurts. And my shoulder hurts.” His voice got soft, cracking again. “And I cant bloody _play_.”

Russel rubbed his good shoulder. Murdoc was usually resistant to touch, but right now he seemed to crave it all at once. “We can do something else while your arm heals. There's a lot of other stuff we need to work on anyway.”

“I'm...fuck, I'm gonna need a lot of practice after this... _dammit…_ ” he bit his lip. “Why couldn't they have just left my fucking arm be. I fought 'em for a bit, y'know, but I stopped the minute they grabbed it. I promised them I'd be a good boy, heh. But they did it anyway.” He smiled wryly. “I guess it wasn't shocking. I kind of slipped up there, didn't I? Gave the game away. Like a bloody idiot.” He wiped at his eyes again.

“You didn't do anything wrong.”

“Bah. Sure I did. I fucked up. Pathetic. I know better than that.” He laughed again, empty and bitter. “Didn't survive my rubbish childhood years just to make an obvious fuck up like that.” 

Russel hummed. “That's shit. I hope you know that.”

“It's true.”

“It's bullshit.”

Murdoc snorted. “well that's kind of you to say, I suppose…” he sighed. “Well I guess that's enough wallowing. I don't have much better to do, but I'm already sick of it.”

Russel snorted. “Since _when_.”

“Since not sleeping for 3 bloody days.” Murdoc chortled. “Takes a lot outta ya, all that self pity.”

Russel scoffed. “believe me, This wasn't what that was. But either way, you have a right to feel sorry for yourself over this.”

“Ah well, maybe you're right.” He patted Russel's hand. “but I'm done. For now at least.” he brushed Russel's arm aside and slowly pushed himself off of the counter, grimacing and hissing. “I'll be grateful to be able ta sit down again, that's for damn sure…”

He glanced up at him, his eyes darting back down. “uh listen, Russ...i uh...th...thanks...y'know...fer listening to me bitch. I...you're a real good mate…” he chewed on his bottom lip. “You...you won't...tell no one, will ya? ... _Ever_?”

Russel shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

“A-alright, good…” He fiddled with his pant leg. “Faceache would just make fun i'm sure...nd he can't keep his mouth shut to save his miserable life...'m sure some rag would get ahold of it and it'd spread and…” His lip trembled. “Well, it's not quite childhood nonsense, is it? Kid can't fight no one off. ‘s not the same.”

He exhaled. “An of course I don't want Noodle knowin'...so...I guess it's just you then.”

“I don't think D would make fun of you.”

“He absolutely would. And I'd deserve it. Because i'm a pansy fucking faggot, as previously stated.”

“Well if he did, I'd smack him.”

Murdoc cracked a smile. “Y'know, that'd almost be worth telling him, just to see that.”

Russel smiled softly in return. He sighed, putting his hands in his pockets and leaning against a nearby counter. “I dunno man. I still think we should take you to a doctor.”

Murdoc shook his head. “No, no no, no bloody doctors…” His expression turned pained, almost panicked. “I’m not...I’m not about to be some battered _victim_ ...have them stick more bloody things in me…” he exhaled. “No. No that's never going to happen, Russ, you can _forget it_ …”

“I meant...I was talking more about your shoulder, or your wrist, man.” Russel said. Something of a lie but not by much; he wanted Murdoc to see a doctor for _something_ at _least_. “It's definitely sprained. And you might need physical therapy so you can get back to playing as soon as possible.”

“...o-oh…” Murdoc shifted. “maybe…” He scoffed. “I hate the damn bloody things though.”

“What?”

“ _Doctors_ , of course Russel.” he scoffed. “Smarmy know-it-alls...bah! Anyone could do their job.”  

Russel laughed. “Only you would think that, Muds.”

“Well, it's not my fault everyone is so enamoured by 'medicine’ and 'university degrees’ or whatever they can't spot the truth right in front of em.”

Russel shook his head. He turned to the stovetop. “I'm still gonna make eggs. Sure you don't want any?"

Murdoc grabbed his gut. “Eh...I...I'm...I _did_ eat…” His stomach chose that moment to growl audibly.

Russel didn't comment. he instead started pulling a pan from the cabinet. “Well you could eat again. No law ‘gainst that.”

He glanced at Murdoc out of the corner of his eye. Murdoc was licking his lips. “I...s-sure.” He said finally. “Sure.” He leaned against a nearby sofa. “Winnie was gettin’ bit cramped anyway.”

“Figured as much.”

“Hrm.”

Russel started gathering up ingredients. “You know,” he continued. “I'm gonna put on some tv. We could eat together if you want.”

He stole another glance at Murdoc.

Murdoc was still clutching his stomach, looking to the side.

“Y…ye…” He he muttered finally. “Yeah, that...sounds alright…”

“Hrm. Cool.”

He turned on the stove. “Hope you like Paranormal Home Inspectors, cause i'm thinking I might make a marathon of it, yknow?”

“Oh Satan, not another one of your ghost harassing shows.”

Russel chuckled, putting down a plate. “Believe me, there aint any ghosts in this one.” He folded back the package of the cheese. “Well. There's that one episode.” He ran the cheese over the grater. “But I always skip it.”

Murdoc made a noncommital noise.

He stood there, watching Russel, absolutely silent. Russel glanced at him on occasion, but Murdoc always looked away before their eyes could cross paths.

Eventually the ingredients turned into eggs with cheese, topped with mushrooms, onions, garlic, and tomatoes, some hashbrowns and toast on the side. He heard Murdoc's stomach growl a couple of times, and saw him clutch it tighter. He also noticed the way his legs shook.

Russel took the two full plates and some forks up in his hands. Murdoc reached for his, but Russel pulled it away. He saw Murdoc's lip curl, his teeth bared. He didn't eat often, but if you knew what was good for you you didn't get in between Murdoc and a meal.

“Go get comfortable first. It'll be harder with a plate in your one good hand.”

Murdoc grumbled, pushing himself unsteadily off the side of the couch and limping around the other side. “ _Sure_ , I'll be _plenty_ comfortable I will…”

He eased himself into the left crook of the couch, wincing the whole way.

“You could lie down.”

“I'm bloody trying,” he snapped. “Besides, how am i supposed to eat all laid out, huh? Are you going to _hand feed me_ like some roman senator on holiday in Pompeii, hrm?”

Russel snorted. “If I gotta.”

Murdoc fell silent for a minute.

“Ah.” He managed finally.

Russel put the plates down on the coffee table. Murdoc was clearly still stiff, but he lunged for his, stuffing bites of food into his mouth without the aid of a fork.

“You like it?” Russel asked, biting into his own.

“It's not rubbish, how's that.”

Russel snorted. “So it's great then.”

“Hrm. Ta,” Murdoc said, his mouth full. He wiped his sleeve across his lips. “Got anythin' to wash this down with?”

“There's orange juice in the fridge.”

Murdoc scoffed. “Oh piss off. You know what I bloody mean. I won't drink a glass of bloody _orange juice,_ not if it's not several parts vodka.”

“Hrm. Go get it yourself then.” Russel said, taking a bite of toast.

“Bastard. I'm crippled here!” He clutched his chest. “I _deserve_ vodka right now! I deserve better than vodka! After all I've been through!”

Russel rolled his eyes. “Fine.” He got up. “I'm sure you'll only be using that one for the next month and a half, huh.”

Murdoc grinned. “I was thinking at least 2 months. Maybe 3.” He took another bite of his toast. “‘Twas a traumatic experience, Russy. The physical damage might heal but the psychological? I might _never_ be the same.”

“Bite me.”

Murdoc cackled.

Russel walked over to the liquor cabinet and dove right in. He grabbed some vodka, then some orange juice from the fridge, and two glasses.

When he returned, Murdoc was plucking Russel’s mushrooms from his plate and dropping them into his open maw.

“ _Hey_ !” Russel smacked him. “Get outta there you little shit! I'll never feel _that_ bad for you!”

Murdoc laughed his obnoxious grating laugh. “You _monster_. How can you _live_ with _yourself_?”

“With a stomach full of _my_ mushrooms, that's how.”

He laid down the glasses, the bottle, and the jug. “Now, no more interruptions. I'm watching my fakeass supernatural home improvement show.”

Murdoc reached over and took the vodka bottle. He popped it open and started drinking.

Russel let him. Because he was right. He deserved to try and feel better.

Eventually though, Russel touched his arms, and slowly lowered the bottle from his mouth. “I think that's enough, man.”

Murdoc gasped for air, wiping the vodka off his chin. “Iss not.” He muttered.

“Well, for now maybe.”

Murdoc nodded, his hand dropping to his knee.

Russel turned on the tv, and switched it to the vhs. As the show began with a cheesy voice over and a ridiculous opening theme, he poured them both some orange juice. He slid Murdoc's over to him.

“What no vodka?” Murdoc grumbled. “thought I made my position on that _rubbish_ clear!”

“You had your vodka first.” Russel said.

“ _aaaach_.” Murdoc groused, drinking down half of the orange juice before dumping vodka into it.

Well. It was something at least.

Russel propped his arm up on the sofa, letting his eyes glaze over. The middle aged white woman in an ugly red dress on the television was closing her eyes, lifting her hands, and muttering about sensing the spirits or whatever.  “Man, this show is so fuckin stupid.”

“whyddya bloody watch it then?”

Russel grinned. “Because it's so fuckin stupid.”

Murdoc licked his fingers. “Hrm.”

Russel said nothing for awhile.

“Muds.” He began.

“Yeah?”

Russel sighed. “...lissen…”

“Ah don't you start.” Murdoc gave him a very strange look. It was defensive and angry and vulnerable all at once, but moreover it was tired. “Don't you start that shit with me. I know what you're about to say.”

“No you don't.”

“Yes I do. I don't want your... _sympathies…”_

“Murdoc.”

“Yeah?”

“Shuddup.” Russel leaned back. “Fuckin’ Idiot.”

Murdoc hissed, about to say something caustic. Russel interrupted him. “I mean it, shut the fuck up and hear me out, ok?”  
  
Murdoc growled. “I don’t want your fucking platitudes, so if that’s what you’ve got you can _stuff 'em_ …”  
  
“I don’t. I wouldn’t waste my breath.” Russel said. “I know you’ll go right back to hiding things an taking care of them yourself, even though you don’t have to. I know you’ll be back to your dumbass bullshit soon enough.” he looked back into the tv, and past it. “I just want you to know if you're ever in the mood to go looking for support...well I am here, y'know.” His tone became quieter. “And if you did, I'd never tell anyone about it or make fun of you for it.”

Murdoc didn't say anything. Russel glanced over at him. His eyes were likewise glued to the television. They were clearly watery but Murdoc seemed to be doing his best to keep them in check. His hands were balled up, his free one digging into the couch arm.

Finally, he muttered. “You’re missing your show, Russy boy.”

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a very special au where ghost home inspectors was made in 1999 and not 2011 lmfaooo


End file.
